XI 
THE SEVEN SLEEPERS 
A THOUSAND and a thousand years ago, seven 
saints hid from heathen persecutors among the cold 
mountains which circle Ephesus. The multitude who 
cried, ‘““Great is Diana of the Ephesians!”’ are drift- 
ing dust, and the vast city itself but a mass of half- 
buried ruins. Yet somewhere in a lonely cave sleep 
those seven holy men, unvexed by sorrow, untouched 
by time, until Christ comes again. So runs the legend. 
It is a far cry to Ephesus, and whether the Seven 
still sleep there, who may say? Yet here and now 
seven other Sleepers live with us, who slumber 
through our winters, with hunger and cold and 
danger but a dream. Their names I once rhymed 
for some children of my acquaintance. As I am 
credibly advised that the progress of a camel through 
the eye of a needle is an easy process compared to 
having a poem printed by the Atlantic Press, I 
hasten to include in this chapter the following 
exquisite bit of free verse (I call it free because I 
don’t get anything extra for it). 
The Bat and the Bear, they never care 
What winter winds may blow; 
The Jumping-Mouse in his cozy house 
Is safe from ice and snow. 
